Jessi's Secret Language by Ann M. Martin Page B

minutes crawled by.
    â€œReady?” A hand touched my shoulder.
    I jumped a mile.
    â€œI am sorry,” said Mme Noelle, “but it is time to begin. The house is packed. Oh, and your friends, the deaf children, they are sitting in the fourth row — center. Excellent seats.”
    â€œOh, thank you so much, Madame,” I said. “That’s wonderful.”
    â€œAre you ready?”
    â€œYes. Yes, I am.”
    â€œAll right then. Go ahead.”
    The audience had been noisy. They were chattering and rustling their programs and opening packages of candy. Suddenly they fell silent. I knew the lights had dimmed, the audience lights anyway. But the stage was still lit, and the curtain was down.
    â€œJessi?” asked another voice. It was Mrs. Braddock. She and Haley had appeared beside me, both very dressed up — and both very nervous.
    â€œOkay,” I said. I squeezed Haley’s hand. “Let’s go.”
    I was the first to walk onto the stage in the theater. I was followed by Haley and Mrs. Braddock. When we reached center stage, standing in front of the curtain, we stopped and looked out at the sea of faces.
    â€œGood evening,” I said, and Mrs. Braddock signed, “Good evening.”
    â€œTonight’s performance,” I continued, “is a special one. In the audience are eight students from the school for the deaf here in Stamford.” (Mrs. Braddock was still signing away — my translator.) “This,” I said, “is Carolyn Braddock,the mother of one of the students, and Haley, his sister. So that the students can get as much as possible out of the performance, Haley is going to narrate the story before each act and her mother will translate the narration into sign language. This is not usually part of a performance of Coppélia , but we hope you enjoy it anyway. Thank you.”
    I walked offstage then, to prepare for my real entrance, and behind me I could hear Haley speaking in a small, scared voice. “Louder!” I whispered, as soon as I was out of sight of the audience.
    Haley spoke up. Her mother signed away. The audience liked them. I could tell.
    The next thing I knew, the curtain was rising and the ballet was beginning for real. You might think that I was aware of the fact that my friends and family and Matt and his classmates were in the audience, watching me. But I wasn’t. When I’m onstage; I am the dance. I’m the steps and turns and leaps. I’m Swanilda telling my story. Nothing less. For me, that’s the only way to handle a performance.
    Backstage, between acts, I paced around nervously.
    â€œYou are doing fine,” Mme Noelle said to me several times. “A fine job.”
    Katie Beth, hearing Madame’s praise, even added, “You really are. You’re a perfect Swanilda.”
    I smiled and thanked her.
    There was no way Swanilda could have been black, so I wasn’t perfect , but I knew I was dancing very well. And I knew the show was going well. After all, we had rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed. It was paying off.
    â€œYou know something?” Katie Beth spoke up.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAdele’s here tonight. She’s in the audience. I told my parents about the special show, so we asked her to come home for the weekend.”
    â€œHey, that’s great!” I cried. “It really is. So the signing is for her, too.”
    â€œI think she wants to see you after the show. She really likes you. I mean because of the signing and tonight’s performance and everything.”
    â€œI’d like to see her, too. Maybe she could meet Matt.”
    â€œGuess what. I’m learning how to sign,” said Katie Beth. “There’s a class at the school Matt goes to. I found out about it all by myself. Mom and Dad aren’t taking it, but I started anyway. Adele is my only sister. She’s not around much, but when she is, it’d be kind of nice